When my daughters were teenagers and began to bring home young men, I would attempt to engage them in conversation.
One day, the conversation gravitated toward music.
“Are you a musician?” I asked one prospect.
Yeah,” he replied. “I’m a drummer.”
The problem wasn’t that he thought drummers were actually musicians. The problem was that he was a drummer.
Oh, I admit that drummers may be useful in some ways, but they are hardly husband material. You see, drummers travel to a different beat.
Way back, when I was in the school band at my high school, the band was playing in rehearsal one day when they conductor suddenly stopped us by banging on a music stand with his baton.
When silence was achieved, he glared at the drummers and demanded, “Is that what is in your music?”
The drummers looked stupefied. They looked at the conductor, looked at each other, and then looked back at the conductor. Finally, one of them reached forward to his music stand and opened his music book.
The drummers didn’t care what the rest of us were playing. They didn’t care what the composer had written. They were just doing their own thing.
As I said, not husband material.